My Escape Chapter 10

**Sorry for the wait! Work has been uber tough! But at least I'm makin some money, right?! Anyways, thanks for all of the comments! Please feel free to leave more :) Hope you enjoy **

There was a light rap at the door and I called, "Come in!" Stupid me wished that it was Oliver, but I knew that that would never happen. Instead, my brother came in the room and my jaw just about dropped. I hadn’t talked to my brother in weeks. Last I heard he was dating some cheerleader. I hadn’t heard that from his mouth though; it was the huge gossip mill at our school.

"Hey," he greeted awkwardly, giving me a little wave.

I had been proofreading Jessie’s article--this one surprisingly insult free--when he had sounded at the door. I saved my progress and then shut the top of the lap top. Greg never interrupted me unless he had to tell me something. "So, what’s up?" I asked him, swiveling around in my desk chair.

He chewed on his bottom lip and seemed unsure of something. Knowing Greg, this didn’t happen very often. Being the quarterback, you had to have some kind of self-confidence. And trust me, my brother did. The only time he seemed vulnerable was when it came to my dad.

His cheeks turned pink as he sat down on the edge of my bed and said, "I need advice."

"From me?" I asked incredulously. He would never ask me for advice unless it dealt with school work. But from the look on his face, I could tell it wasn’t about school. "About what?"

He sighed and then ran his hand through his brown hair. He looked over at me in my desk chair and said, "A girl."

"A girl?" I repeated.

He nodded and then his face flushed again. He said, "Her name’s Leslie and she goes to school with us, but she’s quiet and…"

"Not popular?" I probed. I knew where this was going. Leslie was the red-headed girl at our school who I always knew my brother liked. But I also knew that Greg would never go after her because she wasn’t like his friends. She was quiet, intense, and smart.

He nodded. "I know I sound like an ass and everything, but…my friends they’d…"

I asked him, "Do you like her?" He nodded; it was as simple as that for him. I wished my love life would be that plain and simple. But no, I had to make everything so damn complicated. "What do you like about her?"

His cheeks turned crimson and then smiled to himself. I had never seen him get so worked up over a girl and he had been out with the most popular Eastside could offer. He shrugged and said, "I don’t know. She’s just…different. Like, she doesn’t care what she wears, she knows what she wants, she’s…beautiful." As he spoke about her, I noticed light coming from his eyes. He looked happy talking about her.

"Aww…" I cooed, not being able to help it. That had probably been one of the nicest things my brother had ever said before. Correction: that had been the nicest thing he had ever said and my brother had done nice things before.

He threw a pillow from my bed at me and then asked, "So what do you think?"

"Greg; you’re obviously in love with her. You look really happy when you talk about her. I think you should ask her out. Who wouldn’t want to go out with Greg Gregory?" I couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his name; it was so funny-sounding. But that was Greg.

He smiled and then stood up. "Thanks," he said, and then gave me a hug. Greg hadn’t talked to me in months, let alone hug me. It felt really nice. Even though my love life was totally screwed, I could help him with his. At least he would be happy. Maybe I wasn’t alone in this crazy world. He looked at me and then said, "So what happened with Oliver Carter?"

My eyes snapped up to him. He had an evil smirk on his face. He knew? How the hell did he find out? "What…what are you talking about?" I stammered. He couldn’t know! I had tried so hard to keep it from him. But what really surprised me was that he wasn’t mad about it. He actually seemed pleasantly curious. Maybe he had heard how I had been a bitch to him and that was why he didn’t seem so mad.

He dramatically shrugged his shoulders and then said, "Jessie’s dating one of the guys on the team. You know what? She really hates you."

Of course she did. "The feeling’s mutual," I seethed. But then I looked up at him; he didn’t seem at all that angry. I had thought he would be livid. "But…no, nothing’s going on."

"Why not?" he asked me. He really did look curious. Did he actually care about my love life? Especially if it involved Oliver Carter; the rival he was supposed to hate. I mean, everyone else on the football team hated him. How come it seemed like Greg didn’t mind him? "From what she told me…"

I cut him off. I hated talking about Oliver, about what I had done. What Oliver had told me last night was still playing in my head and it was driving me insane? He was making me question how I lived my life. Who gave him the authority to do that?

I said, "We just…I just didn’t…I don’t know. We stopped talking a month ago." It hurt me to say this; it actually hurt me. How insane was that? I wanted to keep talking to Oliver, because well…I loved it. Now that I think back on it, I had even loved it when he had picked on me.

He tugged on the end strands of his hair and then asked, "Did you want to stop talking to him?"

"It’s so complicated, Greg. Please don’t get me started. Besides, I don’t need a boyfriend right now; they’re too distracting." As I said this, I realized how boring my life truly was. All it consisted of was the newspaper, homework, and cleaning up after my dad. That was pretty pathetic.

He shook his head and said, "Kara, you’re only a senior once, don’t waste it hiding out in your room doing schoolwork. It’s disgusting."

I winced. I knew my current lifestyle wasn’t exactly normal, but it was easy. Some people may think that partying came naturally to me, but it really didn’t. Working came naturally to me. As much as that sucked, it’s what life had handed me. "I know," I muttered, toeing the bottom of my desk chair.

"Look," he said, and by the tone of his voice, I could tell he was about to give me advice. I braced myself. "If I talk to Leslie and tell her I like her, will you talk to Oliver?"

"Do you know how crazy you are? You want me to hook up with your rival?" I asked him, completely and totally flabbergasted. It made no sense whatsoever. I knew that brothers didn’t want their sisters to date their best friends and I somewhat understood that. But then again, they didn’t want their sisters to date their rivals either, right?

He smiled and said, "Kara, I know how hard you have it. I’ve seen firsthand what you go through on a daily basis, and I don’t like it. You’re a teenager; not a maid, not a chef. You may not notice it, but any time I see you, you look sad. I hate seeing you like that. And if Oliver Carter makes you happy, then who am I to stop it?"

"You sound so mature," I teased, grinning at him. Yes, I was trying to avoid the basis of his little speech, but he didn’t have to know that. I didn’t want him to worry about me; it wasn’t fair. So maybe if I acted like I truly was happy, then he’d believe me.

He rolled his eyes at me and said, "I just want you to be happy; you deserve it. We all do. But I doubt dad is going to do anything."

I frowned and then nodded. A solemn silence fell upon us. I could see by the look on his face that he was remembering that day two years ago. I tried so hard to push the memory away, but it always seemed to be stronger than me. He shook his head and then stood up. "Well, thanks for the advice. I’ve got practice and then a party, so…"

"Popularity calls; got it," I said, nodding, and then turned back to my computer screen. And just like that, our brother/sister bonding thing ended. He walked out of the room and the two of us went back to where we belonged: him with his friends and the pigskin, and then me with the computer.

It was like my brother and I were from opposite sides of the universe. Even though we were twins (I was older by five seconds) it was like we barely knew each other. But those few times where we came together and talked it was like we were best friends.

"Hey, dad," I greeted cheerily as I made my way down the narrow carpeted stairs. I had just finished proofreading every article for this week’s issue and that always put me in a good mood. But seeing my dad there, on the couch drinking beer, immediately put me in a sour mood again. I hadn’t seen my real dad in two years.

My real dad was constantly smiling; always joking. His cheeks were naturally a happy shade of red, not this hallow pale they had been since my mom died. He used to smell like cinnamon and cake icing. I could remember hugging him after a little league game and smelling him. It had always made me feel better; especially if we had lost. There had been something so comforting about him.

But now he was the one who needed comfort.

"You hungry?" I asked him as I glanced at the clock on the oven. It was past seven o’clock and he had usually eaten by now. When he shook his head, I urged, "Dad, you need to eat."

"I ate a hot dog earlier," he told me, but something told me he was lying. I walked over to the fridge and looked for a pack of hot dogs. There was the one I had bought last week: completely unopened.

"Then how come a hot dog isn’t missing from the pack?" I asked him, walking over to where he was sitting. He pressed the mute button on the remote and then looked up at me. "Why’d you lie?"

He snapped, "I have a stomach ache, okay? I ate breakfast this morning and I think it might have been bad. I lied because I knew you’d flip if I didn’t eat."

He was acting like a little kid. I had never seen him like this before. Usually he was quiet, evasive. But today he seemed on edge. Why was he acting like this now? Then it hit me. Today was October thirteenth. Today was my parent’s wedding anniversary. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten.

"Dad," I squeaked, and then plopped myself down on the couch beside him. I reached out to hug him, but he didn’t return the gesture. He just sat there, like a stone, staring at the muted television. He looked so sad. I wanted to hug him, to comfort him, to make him feel better. But he wasn’t going to let me. He never was going to let me.

"Dad, please, talk to me," I begged, grabbing his shirt sleeve lightly. He still didn’t look at me. He just sat there, wringing his hands together, staring at the silenced television.

I could feel my tear ducts starting to fill up. He had never acted like this. Usually he would just go in his room and not even talk to us. But for some reason, today, he didn’t even have the energy to make it up the stairs.

"Daddy, please," I pleaded, "Look at me."

I felt like a little girl again. Except for back then, when I had been a little girl, he had looked at me. He had hugged me, loved me, and bought me dolls. He had taken care of me. But now it was like the situation had been reversed. I was taking care of him and it didn’t even work. He still just sat there like a stone.

I couldn’t even be in that house anymore. I ran up the stairs to my room, grabbed my car keys, and then darted out of the front door. My dad didn’t even bother to ask when I would be home. Why? Because he didn’t even care. No one cared about me. I was alone in this crazy world. It was just me and my good grades. For a while that had been okay with me, but now, that thought didn’t sound so comforting.

I jumped in my car, revved the engine, and then peeled out of the driveway. I hadn’t even remembered to grab my cell phone. All I could focus on was the look that had been in my father’s eyes. He had looked dead alive. He was just a zombie. I wanted him to be better: not just for me, but for him also. He needed to get over my mom.

When my vision became obscured from the tears about twenty minutes later, I swerved onto the shoulder and then put the car on park. Then I brought my knees into my chest and wrapped my arms around them. Then I cried.

I sobbed like I had never sobbed before. It was like everything had been building up to this. All of the little cry sessions about Oliver seemed like nothing anymore.
Images of my mom smiling and happy passed before my eyes like a nightmare. She hadn’t been happy; she had been miserable.

About three years ago I had noticed her getting more depressed every passing second. It started when my grandma, her mom, passed away from breast cancer. They had been best friends; closer than most. My mom would always talk to her on the phone for hours.

I would always find her in the kitchen early in the morning, talking to my grandma and sipping her morning coffee. She had always seemed so happy and glad to talk to her. Still to this day, I can’t talk on the phone that long. I had had no idea how she had been able to do that.

So when she got the morning call about my grandma passing away, she ran away. She hadn’t told anyone anything; not even my dad, her husband. She had dropped Greg and I off at school just like every other morning and when we had gotten home, our dad had told us what happened.

Apparently, my grandma had known she had breast cancer, but she hadn’t told anyone. She had wanted to be known for happy memories; not from her being sick. I think that was what had hurt my mom the most; that her mom hadn’t been able to tell her that. That she had had to go through that alone.

Two weeks later, my mom had returned home. Back then we had been so happy to have our mom back that we hadn’t noticed how dead on her feet she looked. We had overlooked her pale skin and sunken-in cheeks. We had just been happy to have her back home; back with us.

But after that incident, she wasn’t our mom anymore. For one, she never slept. Ever. I would have nightmares at night, walk down the stairs, and see her standing by the front door, staring out into the night. I had asked her what she was doing and she had said, "Just wondering, sweetie."

I had asked her "about what?" but she had just patted my head and then tucked me back into bed. I should have known that she was sick. But I hadn’t even noticed. I had been fifteen and hadn’t even known that my mom was suicidal. What kind of daughter was I?

Then that one day, I was in bed just waking up, when I had heard my dad scream. I had jumped out of my bed, not even bothering to put on my robe, and ran down the stairs. Then I had seen her. What I had seen still haunts me to this day. It’s the basis of countless nightmares.

She had been passed out cold on the den floor, with a container of pills and a bottle of tequila. I could still remember the look on my dad’s eyes. He had had a million different emotions that day: sorrow, guilt, terror, utter sadness. He had looked so broken.

He had screamed at me to go back upstairs and that he would be home sometime. He hadn’t known when. So I had done what I was told. My brother had been at his friend’s house so he had been completely out of it when I had called.

I had been sobbing on the phone when I told him, "Greg! I’m scared…you need to come home…I think mom’s de…"

I hadn’t even finished my sentence. He had been home ten minutes later. He had found me sitting on my bed, terror evident upon my face, and wrapped his arm around me. I had sobbed onto his chest and as soon as I had told him what had happened, he had started to weep too.

My dad had found us like that five hours later. We had been on my bed, arms wrapped around each other, crying and wondering what was going to happen. He had said quietly, "She’s gone," and then walked out of my room.

He had never come back.

"Kara?" a deep, disturbed voice asked me, causing me to snap out of the past. I somehow managed to bend my head upwards to see who had found me. Who would want to find me anyways?

Oliver.

"Why…what are…you doing here?" I managed to ask in between trying to catch my breath and sobs pouring out of my mouth. I must have looked like a wreck. Totally not perfect.

He climbed into the car, sat down in the passenger seat, closed the door and then wrapped his arm around my shoulder. He whispered soothingly, "I was at a party across the street and saw your car. What’s wrong?" He had been so mean to me the other night at the ice-cream parlor, and now he was being a gentleman. I was starting to realize that Oliver had many different personalities.

His brown eyes looked so sincere, so caring. He wasn’t drunk, I noticed. He, for once, didn’t reek of Captain Morgan or beer. I liked his normal smell. What was wrong with me? Gah! Here I was, crying my eyes out over my mom’s suicide, and liking how he smelled. Man, was I screwed up?

"Nothing," I croaked, and then the tears started coming even harder. Lying wasn’t going to help anything. Somehow or another, he would understand I was upset and not want to deal with me. He would leave the car, leave me by myself, and go back to the party. Why comfort me when he could be screwing around with Holly or Polly or Molly?

He rolled his eyes at me and then hit his head against the headrest. Here it came; he was going to bolt in under ten seconds. Ten, nine, eight…

"Kara," he whispered, and when I looked over at him, he wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug. I immediately buried my face in the nook of his shoulder and wrapped my arms around his waist. It was amazing how he understood what I wanted. I had told him to leave, but he still figured out that I wanted nothing more than him to stay. It was crazy.
We were in my car, so it was a tad uncomfortable, but I didn’t even care. I was being comforted. It was so odd to feel comforted. No one seemed to care about my comfort anymore. But, now, it almost seemed as if Oliver did. But that was my number one problem. He was going to leave; he wasn’t going to be here forever. He was going to go back to his party and leave me to fend for myself.
"Whatever it is, I’m sorry," he said, and then rubbed my back up and down. Not only did it soothe me, but it also left a trail of fire down my spinal cord. Wow. The boy managed to comfort me, he also turned me on. Man, I had problems.
I couldn’t even move to look at him. I felt weak, vulnerable, and I hated it. But I was glad that Oliver was here. For once, his popping up out of nowhere made me happy. Well, not exactly happy, but I felt better now that he was here.
The problem was that he still hated me; still didn’t want to be around me. He was just being nice now. Maybe he was trying to get his good deed for the year in. But I knew that it wasn’t because he was my friend. As much as I wanted him to be, he would never be my friend.
"It’s okay," he murmured, stroking my hair.
I pulled away from him and managed to ask, "Why are you being nice to me?"
He chuckled and said, "I have no idea. It just seems like the right thing to do, you know? Besides, you don’t look too great."
My heart fell. He didn’t forgive me. He was just being nice. And as much as I appreciated him being nice, it still made me disappointed. I sighed and then wiped underneath my eyes. I winced at the amount of moisture that had fallen. Man, was I embarrassed.
"I’m fine," I reassured him. But of course as soon I said this, I hiccupped. It wasn’t a normal one. It was one of those that came with tears; the ones that sounded painful and felt even worse because they just wouldn’t stop.
He rolled his eyes at me and I said, "That’s the second time tonight. They’re going to get stuck."
He looked over at me and laughed. Score one for Kara. He joked, "You haven’t once. Maybe there’s hope in you after all."
I couldn’t help but smile. He was being so nice after I had been so rude to him. Even though he was making me feel better, he was also making me feel worse. I needed to be so much nicer to him after tonight.
"Oliver…I…" I started. I was going to apologize. I had always hated apologizing but it was needed here. Maybe if I forgave him, we would be able to be friends or maybe more along the rode if I decided to give up my hostility towards him. I wanted to. I hated to admit it to myself, but, I wanted to be with Oliver. I really did. And I was going to tell him right now…
But a knocking at the window of my car stopped my apology cold. I turned my head and saw the blonde girl from the ice-cream parlor with a livid expression on her face. Oliver cursed behind me at the same time that she said, "Oliver, what are you doing?"
Oliver told me, "I have to go."
"Why?" I asked him, nervousness starting to take over me. Who was this girl and why did she have power over him? Was that his girlfriend?
"That’s Tanya…my girlfriend," he said, a pained expression on his face. Of course he had a girlfriend. Of course tonight had meant absolutely nothing to him.
"Of course," I said, shaking my head. I looked over at him and said coldly, "Bye."
"Kara…I…" he started, but then thought better of it. He opened the passenger door and then got out. I watched as he made his way over to her and then wrapped his arm around her shoulder. My heart sank as he kissed her on the cheek and then they walked back into the house.
I blinked back tears and then rested my forehead against the steering wheel. Tears started falling from my eyes, hot and angry, as I drove away from the house. How had I even ended up right here? How had I ended up right where Oliver was? Was God trying to be cruel?
It was almost as if there was some force making Oliver show up every where I was. It was like this person was just trying to make fun of me. Was the entire world out there having a nice laugh at my expense?
As I drove towards my house, I realized that I didn’t even want to go home. What was going to be there--a zombie dad and an invisible brother? It was depressing to go home and I couldn’t take any more sadness.
So instead of driving to my house, I got on the interstate and went to the next town over. School could wait for a while. I needed to think; needed to get my head in check.